


Two Good Reasons To Never Arrest Spider-Man

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Series: Spider-Verse 2: Daredevil Boogaloo [2]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Brett Mahoney Needs a Vacation, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Foggy Nelson, Female Matt Murdock, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018), Secret Identity, Slightly-Panicked Mentor Matt Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: After a night of fighting crime with Daredevil, Miles has the unfortunate luck of being caught by a rookie police officer and arrested. Thankfully, Daredevil happens to have a direct line of contact to Spider-Man's lawyers.





	Two Good Reasons To Never Arrest Spider-Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not know law things and no one is paying me to know law things so I did very, very minimal research on the legal aspects of this story. If something doesn't add up you can either let me know in the comments or just choose to headcanon it as Miles's Universe Being Weird (aka The Boogle Effect)
> 
> For the Daredevil Bingo prompt: "A tongue-lashing from Foggy"

“Where were you shot?” Foggy asked first, when she was woken up to the unique ringtone indicating Matt was calling her from the Batphone.

That ringtone was Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” which rankled Matt to no end but which Foggy insisted was an accurate musical score for the kind of horrible bleeding-to-death news that necessitated use of the Batphone instead of Matt’s regular cell — which was heralded with the much bouncier “Honey, Honey” by ABBA, also a heavily contested choice.

“I wasn’t shot,” Matt snapped back, and the stress in her tone was what really woke Foggy up. “It’s, the kid, Spider-Man—”

“You got _Spider-Man _shot?”

Which was— just, a horrifying thought because the kid couldn’t be more than fifteen. Matt was already pulling a sketchy Batman-Robin thing by mentoring him but dragging the Spider-child into bullet-inclusive battles was going to get them both murdered by May Parker. They had a very strict rule about Little Spidey tagging along with DD, and that rule was no gunfights or mob brawls.

“No one’s been shot!” came the frustrated and extremely relieving reply.

“Good,” Foggy said, “great, then what—”

“Cop took him in. He had a concussion and, but we were done, for the night. He said he could get home ok—”

“With a concussion?” retorted Foggy, unimpressed.

“Yes, I’m an idiot, berate me later! I just, I— I knew he didn’t want me finding out where he lived or who he was yet, so I thought it was better to...”

Of course she did. Because no one knew better than Matt that feeling of fear, of losing your secrets without your consent. It had been her own way of trying to protect the kid. If he’d caught her following him, he would never have trusted her again. And that would have led to more injuries for him in the long run if he charged headlong into danger to avoid Daredevil. It was a no-win situation, and god knew they came up against enough of those for Foggy to know not to hold Matt responsible for the consequences of them.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Foggy insisted as she scrambled to button her dress shirt one-handed. “We’ll fix it. Just hurry up and get some pants on that aren’t bright red and bulletproof, I’m on my way.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

The gratitude in Matt’s voice was enough to melt Foggy even now.

“Anything for you, Matt,” she replied.

They hung up at the same time and Foggy proceeded to scramble for her slacks, a pair of nice flats, and the hair tie on her nightstand. She could imagine Matt doing the same with one of her many court clothes caches. They’d become necessary as she ramped up her time as Daredevil and as secret identities became more precarious — sprinting home and back wasn’t always an option. Plus even if it were, Matt had gotten especially squirrelly about making sure Daredevil couldn’t be traced to their apartment building once Foggy moved in with her. It was sweet in an overprotective feral wolf kind of way — which was, admittedly, the only way Matt functioned, no matter how put-together her façade was.

Foggy shook off the thought, bundling her hair into a messy bun. Then she patted herself down, just a quick check to make sure she had everything on and her blouse wasn’t buttoned crooked. That done, she yanked her apartment keys out of the cute little glassblown dish by the door, locked up behind herself, and bolted down the stairs.

Now, Foggy did not have superpowers, not really, but she did have two uncanny skills. The first was breaking superheroes out of mind-altered states — hypnotism, love potions, decades of Nazi brainwashing, you name it. Three minutes of Foggy’s babbling and _whammo_, they were back to themselves. It came in handy way more times than Foggy was personally comfortable with, but no one could deny it was useful to the world at large.

The other skill was the ability to find and hail a taxi whenever or wherever she needed one. Which had been a real kick in the teeth when she was too broke for cab fares. But after all that sweet, sweet cash money for representing Pete’s interests with regards to the Spider-Man brand, it was a skill that was going to save her bacon — and hopefully Little Spidey’s too. Foggy put her hand to her mouth and let out a whistle so piercing it set off two car alarms. A cab pulled up in front of her on the curb with a screech.

“15th Precinct, please,” she told the driver as she hurried into the cab. “Fast as you can.”

* * *

Two and a half terrifying-slash-exhilarating minutes later, Foggy shoved a twenty at the cabbie as she lunged onto the sidewalk and told him to keep the change. He’d driven like an absolute madman to get her to her destination as quickly as possible, and that was worth a hell of a lot of it could save Matt’s little protege from getting unmasked. The cab’s tires squealed as it pulled away from the curb, but Foggy was already power-walking down the street and didn’t look back.

Now, she didn’t have supersenses, but she did have Matt Sense — so she expected the thud of shoes hitting pavement from a story up the moment she passed the closest alley. Matt was running a little ragged — sprinting across rooftops to your nearest clothing cache and back all while panicking would do that to a person, though. Her cane was unfolded but she didn’t use it as she marched down the street, snagging Foggy by the elbow on the way.

“You’ve been listening, right?” Foggy asked her. “What are we walking into?”

“Spidey’s heart is going out of control,” Matt said, practically dragging Foggy through the precinct doors, “I mean it’s always fast but right now it’s completely off the rails and I don’t—”

She was rambling. Not helpful.

“What room?” Foggy demanded.

“Wh—”

“Which interrogation room, Matt?”

“First one, on your right.”

“You got it, babe.”

Foggy rammed her shoulder into the door and yanked the handle down in the same motion so the two of them barged right into the room. And yup, there he was, the gangly new Spider-Man, cuffed to a table with a cop about to yank his mask off.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded the officer, who had to be a new recruit if his response was that and not ‘oh fuck, not you two again’.

“We’re Spider-Man’s lawyers,” Matt replied in the most _beautiful_ holier-than-thou tone, so beautiful it even offset the way her glasses sat crooked on her face. “This is the room you’re holding him in, yes? We got the right one?”

As if she didn’t know. Foggy grinned, every nerve tingling with relief and adrenaline.

“Yeah, babe. We’ve got the right room.”

* * *

Miles was about three quarters of the way through a mental breakdown. It had started simply enough with the hazy thought, _Dad’s gonna kill me_. Which he was. Probably. Getting a call that your son had been arrested in the middle of the night in a completely different borough was bad enough. Finding out he was arrested for being Spider-Man would make things apocalyptic. Of course, if Miles’s Identity became public knowledge, more than just his dad would find out, which prompted the thought, _oh no, the supervillains are gonna kill me!_ Which was more physically dangerous but also they tried to kill him all the time anyway, the only thing his identity would change was...

And that was the point, sitting cuffed to a table, dizzy and sore with blood still dripping down his face as best it could with his mask still on, that it hit him.

_Supervillains are gonna kill my dad._

So. He was a little preoccupied thinking about that, and Uncle Aaron, and how this was all his fault and he should have just let Daredevil walk him home, why didn’t he—

When the officer reached for his face, he jerked back. But it sent his vision swimming, and even if he could easily snap the cuffs binding him to the table, he wasn’t sure he could walk in a straight line, let alone pull off the acrobatics it would take to dodge a precinct’s worth of police officers, even on the thinly-populated late-night shift.

And then the door slammed open, and everything stopped.

Standing in the doorway were two white women in business clothes — a tall redhead with crooked sunglasses and a blonde with hair falling out of her bun. They were both breathing almost as hard as Miles was.

“Who the hell are you?” asked the officer, his hand stilled, miraculously, just inches away from Miles’s mask.

“We’re Spider-Man’s lawyers. This is the room you’re holding him in, yes? We got the right one?” asked the redhead, which was weird, because Miles could see them, so they had to be able to—

Which was when he noticed the white cane clutched in one of her hands and put it together with the sunglasses.

“Yeah, babe,” came the syrupy reply from the blonde lady. “We’ve got the right room.”

Which they did. Maybe? Miles blinked hard, but all that did was make his mask unstick painfully from his forehead where the blood had glued them together. The thing was that... He was _pretty_ sure he didn’t have lawyers. The officer who’d arrested him seemed baffled too. He dropped his hand away from Miles’s face and straightened up, turning to face the women head-on.

“You— you can’t just go breaking into rooms and—”

“Us?” asked the blonde lawyer, looking the officer up and down with some serious skepticism. “Are you even cleared to be in here interrogating someone without a detective present?”

The officer’s face went purple, and Miles choked back a loopy laugh.

“Just who do you think you are?!”

“Nelson and Murdock at your service,” the blonde lady said, gesturing to herself and her partner in turn. “And like I said before, we’re very publicly on record as Spider-Man’s lawyers.”

The officer paled as quickly as he had reddened.

“You. Y-you—”

“Now then, I certainly hope you weren’t attempting to remove our client’s mask, because...”

Ms. Nelson burst into a stream of legalese that Miles could half-follow, though his attention kept slipping due to his headache. He hadn’t really thought about privacy laws with regard to a superhero’s secret identity but he guessed it made sense that Peter had to have had that kinda protection in place to have kept anonymous for so long. Then he kinda got caught up in the way Ms. Murdock was listening to her— wife? She just had this real dopey lovestruck look on her face. It made sense, he figured, because Ms. Nelson was listing off court cases left and right, and giving statutes by number, all without a pause, and that was probably super impressive, especially to another lawyer.

“I also notice you don’t seem to have provided him any medical care, despite the fact that he’s clearly injured,” Ms. Nelson added crisply.

“What— I. I, don’t— All these super powered vigilante types have a healing factor, he’s _fine_—”

“So you discriminated against him for _allegedly _being an enhanced individual, in a way that could potentially leave him dead, just because _you personally _don’t think he needs medical care? Are you a medical professional, Officer...?”

The officer swallowed.

“Thompson.”

Miles swallowed too, but for a different reason. Sure, he was durable and had regenerative abilities and stuff but... When things hurt they hurt. It was just, most people didn’t really _get_ that, because Spider-Man was a hero, he had to be, like... Strong. All the time. So to have somebody worried about him, his well-being, was...

And look. It had been a long night. Miles was under a lot of stress. So if he kinda lost track of the conversation because he was tearing up a little bit, nobody could blame him, right?

“—and considering what a _stellar_ job you’ve done so far I have a hard time believing you even read this young man his Miranda rights,” Ms. Nelson continued coldly.

“Spider-Man?”

Miles started as he was addressed by Ms. Murdock. It took a few seconds to blink past his wet eyes and his dizziness and his headache, but eventually the question sunk in.

“Um, no, ma’am,” Miles said. “He didn’t.”

“In that case,” said Murdock with a smile like the Devil himself, “I think we had better just go with our client before this gets more embarrassing for everyone. I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy having a mark on your record for the false arrest of a citizen of this fine city. You could certainly charge him, but I’m here to tell you it’s not going to end happily and I _will _make it my duty to have your badge for the way you’ve flouted the rights of my client. So. Counter-offer. You release Spider-Man into our custody, we’ll get him some _proper medical attention_, and then we’ll decide to very kindly not press charges against you.”

Officer Thompson bristled.

“If you think for one minute—” he started to shout, but was interrupted by the door opening.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Nelson brightened up instantly.

“Brett!” she greeted. “Light of my life, sweet nemesis of mine. Just here trying to stop Officer Thompson from making a huge mistake.”

That was when the man who appeared to be the captain leaned around the two lawyers to take a look at Miles. His eyes narrowed.

“Nope. Nope. Get him out of my precinct right now, Nelson.”

“Your wish is my command!”

“But, sir—”

“Did you witness this masked individual actively committing a crime, Thompson?” asked the captain.

“No, sir, but—”

“Then uncuff him and let him go before I have a circus on my hands and Brooklyn PD beating down my door!”

“You heard the man,” Ms. Nelson said, flapping a hand at Officer Thompson, who unlocked Miles’s cuffs in a daze.

He was helped out the door and onto the street by the captain, whose name seemed to be Mahoney. Nelson and Murdock trailed after, looking relieved and accomplished.

“And please... Don’t come back,” Captain Mahoney said, possibly to all three of them, before striding back inside.

“Love you too, Brett!” Ms. Nelson shouted after him.

“How’s your head, kid?” Ms. Murdock asked gruffly.

Miles shrugged.

“A little better. The bleeding stopped, and it doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

“Dizzy?” she demanded.

“No, I’m good. Really.”

“At least let us escort you back to Brooklyn,” Ms. Nelson offered. “That’s kind of your stomping ground, right? Do you have a nurse to look after you once you get there?”

Miles thought of his mom.

“Yeah,” he said, though he figured he’d be all healed up by the time he saw her in the morning. “Um. Thanks, for the save, by the way.”

“It’s what we do,” insisted Ms. Nelson, waving dismissively.

“But... I didn’t realize I had lawyers?”

“You’re Spider-Man, now,” Ms. Murdock pointed out. “And we’re Spider-Man’s lawyers, not Peter Parker’s. You didn’t just inherit his web-shooters, you know. We are... At your disposal, as it were.”

“Which makes it sound like an obligation, but just ignore Matt, she’s poorly socialized. We’re delighted to be able to help Pete’s successor however we can. Which reminds me, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Foggy Nelson and this is my partner Matt Murdock.”

She held out a hand, and Miles shook it, a bit overwhelmed.

“Uh,” he said. “I’m. Spider-Man. Nice to meet you.”

In the end, he let the lawyers herd him all the way back to Brooklyn. They were... Safe. His Spidey Sense, which had been going off near-constantly from the moment Officer Thompson’s hand had closed around his shoulder, finally quieted down in their presence — which helped his retreating headache immensely. Ms. Nelson kept up a bright stream of chatter, and her wife chimed in every so often with a dry remark. When they finally saw him off, Ms. Nelson offered a fist bump, which Miles accepted. Ms. Murdock squeezed his shoulder.

“Get some rest, Spider-Man,” she said, warmly. “You’ve earned it.”

There was something about her voice, about the cadence of her speech, that pinged as familiar. Miles couldn't put a finger on it, but that familiarity made her approval about a hundred times more weighty than it probably should have been for someone he'd only just met.

“Thanks,” Miles managed to respond past the lump in his throat.

After Ms. Nelson and Ms. Murdock left, he made his way home, clambered through his window, and fell into bed still glowing with pride.


End file.
